


A Successful Experiment

by CelticRune



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Biting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, F/M, Whump, implied happy ending, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticRune/pseuds/CelticRune
Summary: Detective Tanwen Langford sometimes dreams of a vampire romance and really, don't we all? Unfortunately for her, rather than the dashingly beautiful Natalie Sewell she has been flirting with, it is Ethan Murphy who first sets his eyes on her.In other words, Sera can't give us a creepy overly familiar villain like Murphy and expect me not to take it to awful places. What if Unit Bravo didn't make it to the warehouse in time, and what if Murphy had a rather more carnal interest in our poor detective? Heed the tags.
Relationships: Female Detective/Ethan Murphy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	A Successful Experiment

Awareness returns to her in pieces. The musty smell of mould and mildew, a voice speaking to her, a hand running through her hair. A deep, aching hurt that seems to radiate all the way down from her bones.

She winces and blinks her eyes open, squinting even against the dim light. For a moment, she’s confused. Then her muddled gaze lands on Murphy, and she remembers. The parking lot, the fight, _Nat_ , the warehouse-

the transfusion. Her heart jumps into her throat and she looks around wildly, but the machines are gone, as are those _awful_ needles. Only Murphy is left, an almost wild grin on his face as he looks at her. “It worked!” he cries, as if on cue, and she tenses against the cuffs. “Can you believe it?”

It’s only when he waits for a response, still looking at her excitedly, that she realises it wasn’t a rhetorical question. She hesitantly shakes her head, then freezes as he moves closer and cups her cheeks in a movement almost too fast to follow.

“You’re a success, detective.” His eyes are fever-bright but earnest, genuinely happy, and she’s reminded of how he looked at her before he slid the needles into her skin. She’d frozen at the sight of the things, the realisation of what exactly a blood transfusion would entail, and none of her desperate begging had changed his mind but he’d looked genuinely regretful as he told her it was unavoidable (she’d know, she’d watched his face like a lifeline so she wouldn’t have to see… anything else). Whatever else he’s done, he cares about her in some way. That must be a sign there’s still goodness in him somewhere, right?

She squeaks in startled surprise when he lowers his head to the crook of her neck and inhales, like he’s… smelling her? He breathes out a satisfied sigh, his hot breath fanning out against her collarbone. “The smell of your blood is.. unlike any ordinary human.”

“Is-” He looks up at her in surprise, and she has to clear her throat before she can continue. “Is it the mutation?”

The surprise fades into pride and he squeezes her shoulder. “In part. My blood has affected you in a number of ways.” His smile widens. “I look forward to finding out how, together.”

When he smiles like that it shows his sharp, pointed canines and she can’t look away. “Are you going to bite me?” she blurts out. She winces immediately after, and she’d cover her mouth if it weren’t for the leather straps keeping her arms securely tied to the table.

“Yes!” Her heart skips a beat, fear curling cold in her stomach, and his eagerness dims into sympathy. “You’ve behaved very well, far better than any of your predecessors.” Despite the situation, his care loosens the tightly knotted fear. “I will do my best to make this as good for you as it will undoubtedly be for me.”

She can’t help the memories her mind dredges up. The books she tore through as a teenager, blushing red to the tips of her ears as she read about people being seduced by vampires and exactly how _pleasurable_ a bite could be. Boys never held her interest but books about lesbian vampires were rare so she made do and, even if she couldn’t relate, the feelings expressed would still keep her eyes glued to the page.

Point is, she could describe the potential pleasure of a vampire bite in an entire novel’s worth of flowery adjectives, but this isn’t _like_ any of those books! This is real life and if he bites her it’s going to _hurt_ and he said he doesn’t want to kill her but that doesn’t stop her heart from beating against her ribs like a drum.

The cold air of the warehouse raises goosebumps on her bare legs and it makes her uncomfortably aware of how he’s still looking at her. She can feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder through the thin fabric of her dress, which is all she was wearing for what she thought to be a simple day at home. There hadn’t between time between the attack and her and Nat’s desperate attempt at an escape to grab even something as simple as shoes.

She squeaks in surprise when he lays his other hand on her bare thigh, just under the hem of her dress, and instinctively tries to move away but she doesn’t manage to do more than flinch. “Please don’t bite me,” she blurts out, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “You don’t want to hurt me, right? You don’t have to!”

“Oh, detective.” He runs his hand further up her thigh, his cold fingertips making her shiver when they brush against her inner thighs. “Don’t make me regret my mercy.” It’s a warning, a threat, but all she can pay attention to is his hand touching her where he _shouldn’t_.

Her heart beats in her throat, her head spinning. This can’t be real, this isn’t happening, this can’t be what’s about to happen. “ _Please_ ,” she repeats, her voice cracking with fear.

He doesn’t listen. “That’s better, detective,” he purrs, and all she can think of is how Nat used to call her that. It’s not the same fondness in their voices, it can’t be, but it sounds so very similar when Murphy looks at her with approval and runs over her, a heavy touch that her underwear is no protection at all against.

She flinches away from his touch but there’s nowhere to _go_ , the belts only dig bruises into her waist and legs and don’t budge as she struggles to move away or close her legs or _something_. Horror and revulsion rise up her throat as his fingers rub against her (savouring, like sun-dappled afternoons and the fumbling touches of two girls who neither really knew what they were doing) and on his face is—pleasure, a predator hunger that terrifies the deep instinctive part of her that flinched when she heard the word _vampire_ , that flinches when Morgan growls at her.

Her voice is whisper-quiet as she murmurs a litany of _no no no_ , too little breath in her lungs for anything more, but it doesn’t save her as he tugs her underwear aside and his cold, dry fingers press against her sensitive skin. Her hips buck at the painfully harsh touch, a whimpering noise on her lips (and he shivers at that, his eyes darkening), and she sobs in relief when he actually pulls away.

“My apologies, detective.” His face is blurry with the tears in her eyes, but she can see the true remorse in his expression (she hopes, she prays, he can’t be a monster, a monster would go through with this). “This would be easier if you cooperated.” It’s chiding, like a doctor might talk to a patient who refuses to sit still, and she watches in horror as he only takes his fingers into his own mouth (his fangs glint in the muted light) before sliding them back between her folds.

It’s an easier touch now, his broad, calloused fingers slick with his own saliva, and it’s somehow even worse for it. She shakes her head no and she begs him again to stop, _please, she doesn’t want this_ , but he only shushes her and assures her the end result will be, “Quite worth it.”

She doesn’t know how much time passes before the lewd noises between her thighs are from her own slick, not his saliva, but she knows there’s tears running down her cheeks and she’s struggling to breathe around deep, hiccupping sobs. She doesn’t want his touch, she doesn’t want any of this, but there’s a heat building in the pit of her stomach that isn’t horror or fear and she wants to throw up, she wants to hide, she wants this to _stop_.

She pulls at her restraints again but she only manages to bruise herself further, and he shushes her with a gentle hand petting her hair. “It’s alright, detective,” he says soothingly, and despite everything she can’t help but cling to that tiny scrap of comfort and safety. Even if it is coming from the man who— “It’s feeling better, isn’t it?” He lowers his head to her throat, his other hand on her forehead holding her head down, and he… he presses a finger _into_ her as he licks a slimy wet stripe over her pulse and it’s so different from anything she’s known. It’s so different from her own hands and it’s different from Nyra and it’s different from how she imagined—

She sobs a denial and tries to shake her head as he purrs a sound of pleasure and gently scrapes his fangs over her pulse, but he crooks his finger inside her and her voice breaks. He is careful enough that the intrusion doesn’t hurt, not physically, but it just _doesn’t stop_ no matter how she struggles and cries and begs and she’s sick, she feels sick, like he’s reaching into her abdomen and squeezing on her insides. Like he’s everywhere, his smell and his cruel touch branded on her skin where he touches her and where he kisses her throat, lingering over her pulse.

Inhaling her scent, the scent of her blood and of her— of her, of the crawling sickening heat in her belly and the tremors in her thighs that make him hum, warm and pleased. “Human arousal truly lends an unparalleled taste to your blood,” he purrs and there’s a scream building in her throat but it’s drowned out by the whimpers that are not solely fear and horror.

She tries to think of something else, someone else, tries to remind herself that rescue is coming, it has to be, but she can’t hold on to anything when his touch is immediate and cruel and _real_ , trapping her in the here and now where she can do nothing but feel how trapped she is. He has three fingers inside her now, slick with her, and her face is wet with tears and her throat sticky-damp with his saliva and it’s a sacrilegious blessing when with a deep, scenting breath he stills his fingers inside her.

“I do think you are ready, detective.” He looks at her like he is devouring her and his fangs peek through his parted lips and she _doesn’t want this_ but she can’t look away, can’t even turn her head with his hand in her hair keeping her still with a superhuman strength.

“ _Please_ ,” she begs but he sets needle-sharp fangs against her throat and he curls his fingers up against her walls for a shock of pleasure and she closes her eyes, waiting for the pain, the blood, the pleasure. His fangs slide into her throat like he spears her with his fingers, with a burst of pain that feeds the heat in her belly and he _moans-_

_“Tanwen!”_


End file.
